Escapade
by Evelyn Rose Caiside
Summary: Molly is abducted after Sherlock dies. This catches the attention of Mycroft Holmes. After a little research and one surprise, it's found that Molly Hooper may be an asset to the escapade that Sherlock has undertaken. HIATUS: Because I've taken too much on. Sorry. xx
1. Bittersweet Hello

**A/N:** Just an idea that came to me while I was _trying_ *cough* *grumble* to sleep the other night. Please tell me what you think of my late-night ideas.

Oh, did I mention it's un-beta-ed? I like living life on the edge. #YOLO or whatever...

* * *

Molly crept along the side of building, in the shadow of the wooden gate, keeping Sherlock in her line of view.

That's when it all changed. She didn't look where she was going and crushed something metal in the layer of garbage that covered the alley floor. Molly felt herself turn white underneath the black mask and plastered herself to the wall in a frenzy. Sherlock turned around towards the sound as soon as he heard it, and briskly walked toward where she was standing. Swallowing thickly, she decided to make a run for it back the way she came. Much to her annoyance, he picked up the pace and ran after her. Molly was beginning to think that she may be able to throw him off in the dark alley, but was proved wrong when a strong hand grabbed her right arm and slammed her into the side of the stone building. Sherlock had her cornered in between himself, the wall, and a trash dumpster. Molly tried lashing out, thinking that maybe she could get away before he realised who she was. Sherlock stopped her, one of his hands covering her throat firmly, not choking her, but only leaving enough room to uncomfortably breathe and talk, and forcing her to stand on her toes.

Thinking quickly, Molly calmed herself down, acting like she was giving up. She kept her eyes closed. Maybe he'd recognize them, she thought. Her gloved hands wrapped around his coated wrist, trying to keep herself up.

"Who are you?", he growled darkly.

Molly squeezed her eyes tighter and said nothing. His hand closed in around her throat a little bit more.

"Can't- Can't breathe- I-", she gasped quietly. Sherlock's look softened a bit and his hand became a little more loose.

Molly smirked inwardly. Maybe she could get out of here yet.

Simultaneously, she tightened her grip around his wrist and twisted it away from her throat while bringing up her knee to hit him in an uncomfortable area. Sherlock grunted and bent forward, and she took the opportunity to slip between him and the dumpster. The hand grabbing her heel was unexpected and left Molly no way to prepare for her fall. The edge of the metal dumpster caught the area of her forehead above her left eye, and her two of her left ribs hit a cinder-block, creating an audible snap on her way down. Molly gasped as the pain hit her, and rolled over, trying to get up. However, Sherlock had gotten off the ground before her and grabbed her by the waist, causing her to fall to her ground again on her stomach. She yelped his name as he grabbed her side and rolled her over. He gave a confused look before tugging off her head mask.

"Molly?", Sherlock pondered out loud angrily as he sat back on his knees and looked her over. The all-black clothing, dirty white trainers, a french braid that held most of her hair back, and the new cut above her eye that was letting blood trickle down the side of her head.  
"What the _devil_ are you doing here?"

She kept holding her left side and tried taking deep breaths. Dark spots were starting to swim in her vision. Molly squeezed her eyes shut, willing the migraine in her head to go away.

"Answer me! Why are you here?"

Molly quickly scrambled to sit up and set herself up against the dumpster, wiping her jacket sleeve across her head, making the blood smear. She answered his question in a raspy voice.

"Mycroft- He said to watch you. Make sure you didn't- didn't-"

"Quit stuttering. It doesn't suit you. Why did Mycroft send you?", he asked sharply.

Molly looked down at the trash-covered ground and responded quietly. "He said something about a danger night, except that he's afraid that it'll last longer than one night."

Sherlock exhaled loudly through his nose, lips pressed together. "He's paying you well, I suppose."

"Not exactly", she shrugged, "just made a few visits for me."

Growling in anger towards his brother, he asked if she was hurt.

"No, of course not", Molly deadpanned. "There's blood pouring from my face."

He looked up at her cut that was indeed bleeding. "We better take care of it then", he roughly grabbed the arm from her unhurt side and stood up.

Molly ground her teeth together and stood up with him. "Careful, Sherlock", she snapped. Beginning to feel woozy, she turned to lean against the dumpster, still holding her side with her left hand. "Oh, gosh. I think I'm going to pass out."

Sherlock ran a hand through his wild hair. "What's wrong?"

Hearing the concern and confusion in his voice, Molly felt bad for yelling at him. "I- I think I broke a few of my ribs. That, and the cut on my head."

"And your throat?"

Molly thought she heard a smidgen of concern in his voice. "It's fine, Sherlock. Nothing that hasn't happened before." He opened his mouth the say something, but she interrupted him. "Really, it is."

Sherlock sighed and looked around. "Can you walk back to the flat? I'm sure you know where it is."

Molly nodded. "Can- Can you grab my mask?"

He stooped down, picked it up, and handed it to her. She thanked him and stood up straighter, holding the black object to the but on her forehead. Sherlock hovered above her, wondering how to help. She obviously needed it.

"What do you need me to do?"

Molly gave him a confused stare. "Uh, can I just hold onto your arm? And don't walk so fast. My legs aren't as long as yours", she chuckled. He offered her his elbow, which she quickly clasped onto. They slowly went out the way Sherlock was headed before. He lead them through the back alleys, not wanting people to stare at them or stop them. The last thing he needed was someone taking them to a hospital.

"What are we going to need to fix you?", he asked angrily as they neared the small, dirty complex of flats.

Molly opened up her eyes. "A first aid kit with plasters and long bandages. You know, the kind that's wound up around a tube?"

"I have one."

"Ok. Good."

They entered the dark building, and Molly struggled up the stairs, gasping with each step. Thankfully, all the neighbours seemed to be gone or sleeping. When they got to the second floor, the third door down, Sherlock let Molly go, took a key out of his pocket, and unlocked the door to the small, studio flat. He grabbed her right elbow and led her in, shutting the door and locking it behind him. Molly glanced around the flat after he turned on a lamp. The flat was mostly empty except for a bed, sofa, coffee table, a telly sitting on a small box, and a bag on the floor.

"Don't get used to it. I'm moving at the end of the week", Sherlock grumbled as he searched the kitchen cupboards for the first aid kit.

"I know", she murmured and hobbled over to the couch, letting the mask fall from her cut.

"Where are you staying?"

"Complex across the street", she motioned toward the window across the street. "Bottom floor." Sherlock looked out the window with disdain as he made his way over to her with the first aid kit. "I'm surprised it's taken you this long to find me out."

"I wasn't exactly expecting you to follow me." He sat down on the coffee table across from her and opened the lid to the kit, starting to sift through it.

Molly reached out and grabbed a small package of antibacterial wipes. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"No, not at all. You know, you shouldn't be out here if you don't know self defense", he spat out bitterly, taking the package from her.

"Tell that to the other guys I've gotten rid of. It's not my fault you have your black belt and I only have my brown."

Sherlock ripped the package open and pulled out the damp cloth, shaking it so that it became unfolded. "What happens when you get stopped by trained fighter?" Molly tried to speak as he started wiping away to blood from her head, but he interrupted her. "You get killed, or worse."

"I suppose your mad at me then."

"Obviously."

They both were quiet and Molly closed her eyes as he methodically wiped away the mess from the side of her head and her ear. After they went through several other wipes, she exhaled as he came back to wipe the cut.

"Should I get you pain medicine?"

She opened her eyes again. "Probably not. I might have a concussion."

"Then keep your eyes open. If you have a concussion, you can't sleep either."

Molly groaned to herself as Sherlock told her to hold the bloody wipe against her head while he searched for a plaster. Finally, he found a large one big enough to cover the cut. Sherlock opened it and started putting on her head, spending time to smooth it over so that it stuck well. Molly looked up at his face and smirked.

"What is it?", he sounded annoyed as he pushed all the trash towards the end of the coffee table next to several dishes and a few papers.

"Nothing", Molly shook her head then winced and mentally chastised herself for the pain it caused.

Sherlock starting going through the unorganised first aid kit, and finally obtained a bandage roll.

"I can go into the bathroom and take care it", Molly stood up and held out her hand.

He sighed and grabbed her wrist. "No, I'll do it."

"Sherlock, I-"

"Do shut up. I broke it, I'll fix it. Sit down, Molly."

She lowered herself back down to the couch, clearly uncomfortable. "Do you even know how to wrap broken ribs?"

"I've had to do it enough this past year, and you've only worked on the dead. I'm obviously the logical choice."

Molly rolled the hem of her shirt up to the edge of her no-so-white sports bra and held it there. Sherlock sucked his breath in, taking in all the multicolored bruises covering her mid-section, along with misaligned bones on her left side.

"I didn't cause all of these", he looked up at her sternly, and she averted his gaze.

"No, you didn't."

He unrolled the end of the bandage and started wrapping it around her torso. Molly would have said something about how tight he was wrapping it, but didn't since it probably was a product of his anger.

"You've been following me about a month, if your injuries are anything to go by", Sherlock murmured, watching his cold fingers maneuver the tape.

"Six weeks", she replied.

"Why?"

"I told you, Mycroft sent me."

"No, I meant why did Mycroft send you. I'm not anywhere near a danger night, as you eloquently put it. So that's a lie, or at least a ruse. I notice these things. Do keep up, Molly."

She exhaled as Sherlock firmly wrapped another rib in place. "I can't go back home. Moriarty's men -we don't know if they know that you're still alive- they got word that I helped you out before you went on the roof. They dropped by and, uh, _visited_", Molly fidgeted on the couch, earning a stern look from Sherlock. "Since I went out with him a couple times, they thought I helped you kill him."

"Like it would happen", Sherlock murmured sarcastically as he continued.

"Thankfully, your brother had surveillance on me, and saw caught them. According to the papers, I am now under government protection for something that has to do with my dad's enemies or something like that."

"Where _does_ Mycroft come up with these things?"

"What do you mean?"

"It's not a plausible story", Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"Why not? My dad was an intelligence officer for the SIS."

"What?"

"I thought that _you_, of all people, would know that", Molly smirked.

"Always something", Sherlock muttered to himself as he fastened up the end of the bandage.

Molly rolled her shirt back down and took a deep breath, feeling the pain from her side burn. "Thank you." He granted in reply, shut the kit, and tossed it on the kitchen counter. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

Scoffing, he paced around the living room. "As if."

"There's something else", she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear with a shaky hand.

"I'm thinking."

"It's important, Sherlock, it's-"

"_Shut. Up._"

"It's about Jim."

He stopped and cursed under his breath. "If you're thinking about apologizing, don't bother. You didn't know that he was a psychopathic killer. Not even _I_ realised it at first. He'd be a surperb actor if he hadn't- Wait, you said _thought._ "

"What?", Molly looked up.

"You said _thought_, which implies past tense, meaning they don't believe it anymore. If they still thought it you would have said _think_." Sherlock turned on his heel to face her, his head tilted slightly. "What changed their minds?"

His hands fell from their place underneath his chin after she spoke her next three words.

"Moriarty isn't dead."


	2. Babushka and Dedo

_**A/N:** So I don't know. Did nobody like the story? Maybe the synopsis is dumb? Probably yes to both. Well, too bad. Here's another chapter. xD Its mostly fluff. Eck. _

* * *

_In a small, downtown district in Kyiv, Ukraine. 23:42 on August 13th._

Sherlock stilled, his breathing becoming heavy as he shook his head slowly.

He came to stand in front of Molly, who was staring at the floor. She noticed his legs trembling as he growled lowly to her.

"_What did you say?_"

She took a deep breath, looking up a little more at his clenched fists.

"Moriarty isn't dead, and no one knows how he did it."

Sherlock growled as he took a step back, pacing the floor with even more determination. His hands tugged through his hair as he muttered to himself.

"_How?_ How did it happen? You did the autopsy yourself. Couldn't you _tell_ if he was dead or not? Couldn't you keep your mind on your work under pressure?", he yelled at her, his hands in the air.  
"I thought- I thought he was dead. I was _sure_ he was dead", Molly's head ducked, a few strands of hair falling out of place, and then she whispered, "I'm sorry, Sherlock."

Sherlock's hands fell from his hair to cover his face. "I shouldn't be yelling at you. I am sorry."

A nervous breath blew from her mouth as she lifted her head again. "Where should we start then?"

"We?", his hands fell and eyebrows raised.

"Yes, we. Mycroft sent me here to help you", Molly explained.

"I think that you should go home instead. All it took is one encounter with me, and look", he waved his hands at her.

"That's because I wasn't fighting back!"

"You should always fight back."

"I know you wouldn't hurt me, not on purpose."

"Molly, Molly, Molly", Sherlock murmured as he continued to pace. "There's one thing you should learn. Never trust anyone completely."

"I've known that since I was a little girl", she murmured to herself, leaning back on the sofa.

"And you couldn't care to use that piece of information when choosing _friends_?"

"Sorry, what?"

"Me, a sociopath? Jim from IT? Even John and Lestrade are associated with crime. But at last they're decent, not to mention ignorant enough. I don't know much about anyone else. Don't you have any woman friends?", his head tilted towards her, but his eyes were still glued to the window.

Molly rolled her eyes. "Ok, so that's four people. And I'm going to pretend that you didn't mention Jim."

"He was _psychopathic__ murderer__", _Sherlock drew out the last words loud and clear.

Molly threw her hands up in the air in frustration, wincing harshly in the process. "I didn't know! I just spent time with him because he listenedto what I had to say, or at least acted like he was interested in listening. We didn't actually date _date_, more like friends, really."

His eyebrows rose, along with a sarcastic smile. "And look where that's gotten us!"

She deflated back into the couch, mumbling to herself. Sherlock stood at the window, and watched her out of the corner of his eye. Molly was crouched back in the middle of the couch, arms around her middle and head hanging low, and looked as though she were about to bolt for the door at any opportune moment. She also was trembling, whether it be from pain or shock, he didn't know. A closer look revealed bruised on her face, neck, and arms that he hadn't noticed before. Every so often, underneath her lashes, her eyes would scan the room quickly. Sherlock knew the look. John Waston had similar signs after coming downstairs after regularly occurring nightmares. (_Sherlock wondered if nightmares of his fall replaced Afghanistan._)

"How long have you been following me?", he murmured.

"Since Estonia. Sorry, didn't get to Finland on time."

Sherlock gave himself a disapproving sneer in the reflection of the window. "How the _devil_ did I not notice?"

Molly gave a half smile to the wall in front of her and shrugged. "Stayed pretty far back and kept quiet. I learned a few things from the people who work for Mycroft. I even met with a few of my dad's coworkers. Of course, they don't work for the SIS anymore, but-"

"You were trained to come on this trip?"

"I suppose so. It wasn't anything too strenuous."

"So, Mycroft sent me a soldier."

"If you're going to label me anything, _agent _would be a better term", she glared at him. "Mycroft sent me because I can work with you, unlike most people."

Sherlock folded his hands underneath his chin, and stared out the window. The perusing of his mind palace continued for nearly half an hour, and he was only brought out of it momentarily when Molly had attempted to carefully lie down on the sofa. She sighed and brought her phone out of her pocket to see the time.

"Can I interrupt your thinking for a moment?", she sincerely asked without a trace of sarcasm. Sherlock looked behind his shoulder. "I'm going to go back to my flat now. If you're willing to let me travel with you instead of following you like a stalker, I'd appreciate it if you knock on my door or something before you leave in the morning."

"Nonsense. You'll stay with me. It doesn't make sense to be wasting time splitting up and trying to keep in contact."

Molly scowled at him in surprise, sitting up. "Won't I invade your privacy or something?"

Sherlock shook his head, looking out the window again. "I've gotten used to not being alone, after living with- with John."

She watched him sadly for a few moments before pushing herself off the couch. "Ok. I'll just go get my bags and such. I probably should say goodbye to Ana and Ivan, too."

"Who?"

"They own that house down there were I've been staying. They're very nice. She patched me up when I first just here", Molly smiled as she stopped at the door. "Even been providing me food and such. Sorry, I'm rambling. I'll just, uh, go now."

Sherlock sighed. "I hope you haven't given them your name or anything else with that rambling."

"I'm not stupid. I'm content with being their _dochka._"

"What?"

"Daughter. Apparently, they're used to people having to be nameless."

He turned around on his heel and grabbed his jacket off the back of the couch. "I'm coming with you."

"Why?"

"I want to see them", he said as he slid past her and opened the door.

"Why?",she followed behind him.

"The case, Molly."

"I don't think they're going to be much help."

Sherlock huffed as they continued down the stairs.

Molly looked around the hallway after she opened the front door with a key (procured from a flower pot underneath the window), locking it again as Sherlock came in. There was was a long hallway with a rug on the wooden floor, two doors on each of the two, yellowed walls. The leftover smell of dinner was in the air. Sherlock followed Molly as she knocked on the first door to the right. After a few moments of silence, the door opened, still locked by a chain. He watched as Molly gave the opener a small smile and wave. The door was quickly shut and then opened all the way by a short-than-Molly grandmother with a round face and slightly pudgy nose, white hair falling in waves right above her shoulders. She wore a red sweater, tan pants, and white socks. Sherlock quickly deduced that was the grandmother sort with no grandchildren of her own, or at least had ones that she wasn't around very often. She knitted and baked. Nothing out of the ordinary, except for her obvious endearment towards Molly.

"_Dochka_-", the woman smiled and motioned for them to come in, "you missed dinner. We were worried for you."

Molly smiled at the older woman's accent and nodded towards the wrinkled man with dark grey hair, sitting in the green chair, reading his evening paper. "Sorry, I was a bit busy."

"With him?", the grandmother grinned at Sherlock.

She awkwardly suck in her breath through her teeth and gave a tight smile. "Yeah, in a way."

"Who are you then?"

"Um", Molly looked up a Sherlock, who ignored them and continued to glance around the room, deducing that indeed this was only an older couple, rooted deep in Ukrainian tradition.

"No name for him either, ah? I'll just call him your _lyubov_", the woman winked and walked into the kitchen. "Come get your dinner_._"

Molly blushed as she followed the older woman into the cozy kitchen with a table, where she sat herself. Sherlock filed in behind, walking around, inspecting the place. "Thank you", she said as the woman placed plate of dumplings filled with meat, and began to eat. Anna set another plate across from Molly.

"Sit down and eat, my _dochka's lyubov_."

"Not hungry", Sherlock murmured as he stared at the plate.

"Nonsense. Look at yourself. You're skin and bones, and you haven't gotten my _dochka_ any dinner which must mean you are starving yourself. Sit down and eat, young man."

Blushing again, Molly smirked up at Sherlock, who huffed and sat down in front of the plate, tentatively taking a bite before tucking in. Anna left the room with a smile and a I-told-you-so-look.

"What exactly has she named me?", Sherlock asked, his eyes flitting to the doorway.

Molly nearly choked on her food, wincing as she put her hand to her stomach. "You don't know?"

"I speak five other languages besides English, but Ukrainian doesn't happen to be one of them", he said sarcastically.

"You know _five_ other languages?"  
"Quit trying to distract me from my question."

She stabbed another dumpling with her fork, mumbling.

"I can't hear you, Molly."

"She's calling you _lyubov_. It means love."

His face tensed slightly as he nabbed the last dumpling. "We're wasting time here."

"Eating home-cooked food is never wasting time." He scoffed. "No, it really is. You know how long it's been since I've had such decent food? The last time was probably after my dad's funeral when everyone insisted on sending me and my aunt and uncle meals. Of course, I was only thirteen at the time, so I didn't realise how good it was. Never take it for granted when someone decides to cook for you-", she pointed her fork at him while whispering harshly, "-that's what my dad always said."

Sherlock stared at her as if he was trying to deduce, but then stood up from his place. "We need to go."

She nodded and stood carefully out of her chair, grabbed the plates and headed towards the sink, placing the dishes in quietly.

When they came into the livingroom, Molly smiled at the two older people. "_Babuska, dedo_, I have to leave now."

They looked up. "Will you be back for breakfast in the morning?", Anna asked.

She shook her head sadly. "No, I probably won't be back again. Ever", Molly added the last bit with an air of quiet finality.

Anna gave a soft smile. "Come here then, and say goodbye."

Sherlock looked on awkwardly as she walked over to the couple sitting in the chairs.

"_Babuska_", she kissed the older woman's cheek, "thank you for all the good food and care."

"_Pa pa_ and good luck, _dochka_. Take care of that one-", she nodded to Sherlock, "-he'll be a bit of trouble."

Molly smirked as she stood up. "He is alright." Walking over to the green chair, she leaned down and gave Ivan a peck on the cheek also. "Thank you, _dedo_, for letting me stay here and hiding me."

"Anytime, _kohana_. Come back and visit if you can. She dotes on you, you know", Ivan smiled and tilted his head towards his wife.

She bit her lip. "I don't know if I'll be able to come back, but I will try."

The older man just smiled and patted her arm before she left the room, Sherlock trailing behind her. As the door shut behind him, he raised an eyebrow.  
"We've certainly gotten chummy with the natives."

Molly huffed and stomped down the hall, ignoring him as she opened the door to her flat.

* * *

**_A/N:_** I should explain that I don't speak Ukrainian. At all. Whatever's here, I've procured from a bit of research. _Dochka_ means daughter. _Lyubov_ means love. _Babushka_ means grandmother. _Dedo_ is a pet form of grandfather. _Pa pa_ is an informal way of saying goodbye. _Kohana_ neans sweetheart in a familial way.


End file.
